Close Your Eyes
by Craft Rose
Summary: Harry and Hermione seek solace in one another, in a completely non-platonic way, after Ron abandons them during the seemingly endless hunt for the remaining Horcruxes.


**A/N: I wrote this almost 2 years ago and published elsewhere, but I figured I should finally post it here. It was previously titled "Tell Me" but I the new title comes from the song "Pompeii" by Bastille. Check it out! **

Crime is the soul of lust. What would pleasure be if it were not accompanied by crime? It is not the object of debauchery that excites us, rather the idea of evil – or so they say.

Hermione had neither the strength nor desire to disagree. It had been a long and tiring journey thus far, and the last shred of hope she had, had disappeared with Ron Weasley. He left them in their expedition for reasons she failed to decipher. But amidst their inner turmoil one thing was perfectly clear. The Horcruxes were becoming less of a priority and more of a pretext.

She hadn't spent this much time alone with Harry since – _ever_.

Whether it was the fear and exhilaration of their lives hanging by a thread or a manifestation of their friendship's true course, Hermione knew not. All she could be certain of was the torrid heat that seemed to be **radiating** from him, the emerald glow of his penetrating gaze and the abandon in her own.

It was wrong.

It was so, inexplicably wrong.

"Have we run out of Pumpkin Juice?" inquired Harry, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. It was early in the morning. The pale glow of twilight still enveloped the English sky.

Hermione reached into her beaded handbag, permitting the clink of empty bottles to answer her friend's question. He sighed with resignation, folding his arms behind his head before lying down on Hermione's makeshift bed by the fire. It had been her turn to keep watch.

"What the…" She grasped an unfamiliar bottle, yanking it out of her enchanted bag with mystification. The reddish liquid and leaf gold covering was impossible to mistake.

"Ron and I swiped a bottle before we left the wedding," Harry explained. "You know, in case we need a drink."

Hermione raised both eyebrows, examining the bottle of Firewhiskey. The seal was still on, which for some reason made her stomach turn. There they were, alone and with a full ration of liquor.

Harry took hold of it, popping the cap off with his thumb as though he had done it before – which for all she knew, he probably had. Without warning, he pressed the bottle to his bottom lip and tilted it back. She could almost visualize the aged liquid streaming past his lips and down his tongue.

"Stop it," she thought to herself. "Control yourself."

"Hmm?" Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, extending the alcohol in her direction. "Sorry – didn't mean to hog."

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had spoken out loud. "I'm fine for now," Hermione murmured, glancing away. "Go ahead and have the rest."

It was difficult to make out against the autumn wind but she could have sworn she heard him laugh.

"You've never had alcohol, have you?" asked Harry, stretching his mouth into its first smile in months.

Hermione answered with silence.

"It's all right," he assured her, scooting closer. "It goes down smooth once you get going."

Feeling like she had something to prove, Hermione grabbed hold of it and followed Harry's example. She took a deep breath, pouring the liquid down the narrow opening between her parted lips. At first it tasted of something she could only describe as veteran – but eventually her body recognized the soft tones of malted barley blended with the heat that transformed it from regular Irish whiskey to Firewhiskey.

Her senses responded to the foreign substance with ease. Without thinking, she tilted it back once more for a second taste. It was unusual in the most euphoric fashion imaginable. Like a warm, candlelit bath or the foreboding yet tender feeling of one's first kiss.

But regardless of how it felt, Hermione knew her time was up. She had no immediate plans of getting inebriated – not with him.

The young woman placed the bottle in the few inches between them, creating a bridge between their bodies as she faced Harry.

His eyes darted away, streaked with an emotion she found illegible. This frustrated Hermione. She could usually read Harry like her tattered copy of _Hogwarts, A History _but not then.

It didn't take long for her to realize there was something on his mind.

"They're fine," she said, referring to Ron and Ginny Weasley. "I know it."

Harry disregarded her statement, running both hands through his messy, black hair. "I shouldn't have let him go," he said, mentioning Ron for the first time since he left. "If he's in danger, it's my fault."

"You're absolutely right," Hermione agreed. "Since, you know, it's your fault for choosing to be born at the end of July. It's your fault for the Pureblood rubbish the Death Eaters are forcibly _preaching_." She made air quotations with the last bit. "It's your fault for being The Boy Who Lived and it's your fault for being the Chosen One."

Harry gaped.

"You need to come to terms with the fact that everyone is in danger no matter where they are, what they're doing or how well you know them." Hermione placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "This is no longer a matter of Ron and I joining you on your hunt for the Philosopher's Stone, Harry. We're in the middle of the Second Wizarding War."

There was silence between them as he absorbed her statement. It reminded Hermione of the trio's midnight discussions in the Gryffindor Common Room, except this time Harry had no choice but to grasp her words for what they were – the truth.

They had one job and one job only – to find the Horcruxes and destroy them.

Hermione instinctively grasped the Slytherin locket, feeling it's weight around her neck. She had taken hold of it after Ron left them, clutching onto it like a safety device when she thought of him. After all, it was the last thing he had touched before Disapparating into the night.

But after several weeks of emotional whiplash and worry, thoughts of Ron became fewer and further between.

"Do you reckon I should hold on to that for awhile?" proposed Harry, unknowingly reaching for the locket.

She said nothing in response, watching him with probing eyes as he undid the clasp on the back and dragged the cold metal chain across the bare skin of her collarbone. Hermione closed her eyes in attempt to block out the emotion boiling in the pit of her stomach. "There's something wrong with me," she thought. "None of this would have affected me before."

"None of what?" asked Harry.

Hermione sighed, having voiced her thoughts aloud for the second time that morning. "Nothing," she mumbled, batting her eyes open.

Harry was looking back at her with something different in his demeanor. She couldn't quite place it at first glance but after his gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips and eventually down to the place hidden beneath her navy cardigan, Hermione understood his disposition.

He shook his head, reaching for the Firewhiskey with one hand whilst leaning back on the other. His faded, secondhand clothes began to fit a little tighter over the past year or so. Not that she had been paying close attention or anything – but it was difficult to ignore Harry and the way he seemed to grow in all the right places.

She thought of her late-night chats with Ginny and how her younger friend would describe the Chosen One in his most vulnerable of states.

"He does this thing," Ginny would say, gleefully regaling her 'adventures' with Harry whilst the lot of them stayed at the Burrow. "Where he'll start to kiss me and right when we get in the thick of it, the lower half of him just shifts away." At this point they would break into a fit of giggles. "He thinks I don't know anything about the male anatomy – poor bloke."

But Hermione knew better. Harry was being a gentleman. He didn't want to pressure Ginny into doing anything, which was more than any other teenaged boy could claim.

Still, the thought of him aroused ignited each and every one of her senses. Hermione had never thought of him in such a light, but, still, she couldn't neglect the obvious. He might have been the Chosen One but that didn't mean he had immunity to hormones. Harry had urges, too.

She blinked several times, momentarily transfixed. She grasped the bottle as Harry handed it to her, feeling her fingers brush over his.

Her thoughts drifted to Ginny's stories once again.

"They're difficult to make out behind those sodding uniforms but they're definitely there," Ginny would say, referring to Harry's muscles. "And they sort of constrict when he's turned on. As if his pelvic shift isn't proof enough."

The brunette downed a mouthful of Firewhiskey. The weight of the bottle was considerably less heavy than when Harry first cracked it open. She placed it down, gasping slightly as she felt an invisible wave pass through her.

"I…I think I'm drunk," she breathed, feeling her body begin to tip over.

Harry's laugh was a little delayed. "Here," he said, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "Just take some deep breaths and it'll pass."

She followed his advice, breathing in a fresh gust of crisp, autumn air. It was amusing to think her first time drunk would be during their journey to defeat the Dark Lord. But, as Ginny would have said, it's now or never. Who knew when she would even get the chance to see Harry again? She seldom let her thoughts drift in such a direction but there was a fifty percent chance Voldemort would survive. There was a fifty percent chance Harry would find the same fate as his parents. There was a fifty percent chance she would have to live in a world without her closest and most trusted friend.

Hermione's lips began to quiver as she faced him. "Harry…"

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

She sighed. "What if – What if we…lose?"

Harry stared at her quizzically, probably wondering why the driving force behind his support system was beginning to question their fate. Still, he stayed strong. "Then I'll die – we all will."

"But – isn't there anything – wouldn't you –" Hermione blinked hard, trying to hold back the rush of emotion. "If that were to happen…what would you miss most?"

* * *

A cool draft ruffled through their campsite, disturbing both the crackling fire and most noticeably, Hermione Granger. Harry scooted closer, feeling her tiny hands find his as the two of them tried to keep warm.

Of all the things he had thought about over the past few years – knowing his fate would come down to a final showdown with Tom for one – Harry hadn't given much consideration to what would happen if he died. It was a valid question. The possibility of losing had never been more apparent. But what **would **he miss most?

Friends? Quidditch? Butterbeer?

He didn't have much to miss in quantity, but the quality of his life was enough to generate a whirlwind of mixed emotions. The chance of never seeing his friends again, never kissing Ginny, never teasing Ron, never spending another night at the Burrow, never feeling the wind in his hair during a Quidditch match, never…having sex – never, never, never.

He took another swig of Firewhiskey, following it with a second and then a third.

"This could be it," said Harry.

"What do you mean?"

He turned to Hermione. "I might never see you again."

She shifted in his arms, and until then Harry failed to realize his hand was still resting intimately along her waist. Any other moment of any other day it wouldn't have meant a thing but as he curved his hand to the shape of her hip, Hermione breathed, no doubt feeling the tips of his fingers touch bare skin.

"This is wrong," she said.

Harry considered playing dumb, but to what she was referring he knew perfectly well. "Is it?"

She paused. "I…I think so."

"You asked me what I would miss most," he began suddenly. "And the truth is I don't know if I can narrow all of it down." Harry thought for a moment. "But I do know one thing."

"And what's that?"

Harry felt the muscles in his chest tighten with each wavering second. "I know what I would regret most." He moved his hand to her lower back, knowing full well they were out in the middle of nowhere with Snatchers roaming the grounds – but the probability of getting killed _at any given moment_ only drove him further into the bowels of their illicit attraction.

He could feel Hermione hold her breath, waiting for him to finish his thought.

But she knew the answer, didn't she?

She always did.

* * *

Her heart had been palpitating for nearly twelve minutes. Hermione slipped into the tent, waiting until she zipped it closed before falling to her knees. It almost happened.

She could still feel the warmth of his breath send vibrations through every inch of her body.

They had been so close – so close yet so incredibly far from where they started. He was her best, best friend. Would one night of abandon be worth the aftermath?

Perhaps if she had ever engaged in any form of intimacy, there would be an answer to that question but as far as Hermione knew, making love was as big a mystery as any other. The furthest she had gone with anyone was snogging Krum during the Yule Ball. He was an excellent kisser, from what she could remember, and although he did cop a feel of her breasts in the heat of their kiss – nothing would ever compare to feeling Harry's fingers brush the small of her back, delicate and evocative all at that same time.

It was a simple action, but the intensity of feeling him feeling her was the most sexually charged thing she had ever experienced.

She wondered, suddenly, how far he had gone with a girl. Ginny claimed they had only ever kissed, but Hermione wasn't so naïve to think her redheaded friend wouldn't conceal a detail or two for the sake of her then-boyfriend.

But somewhere within the whirlwind of possibilities, Hermione found she didn't quite care how experienced he was.

The fact of the matter was that they shared an unequivocally electrifying moment just outside the tent and despite the fact that she excused herself from the situation before it got out of hand, Hermione knew it would only be a matter of time before they came face-to-face with whatever tension was ricocheting between them.

And it was all because they were left alone.

She couldn't help but wonder if this attraction was always there, hiding beneath their warm hugs and friendly banter. Perhaps Ron's departure wasn't so much a cause as it was a catalyst.

Ron.

She motioned to grab the locket, realizing her neck was bare. Harry had it, but she didn't dare face him so soon after their…conversation.

* * *

He buried his face in his hands, having drowned the rest of the Firewhiskey in one heavy gulp. Harry thought to blame the alcohol for his thoughts, words and actions but he knew deep down that Firewhiskey had little to do with it.

The young man sighed with contempt – contempt for the feeling brewing deep in his core. It brought shivers to his spine to think of what would have happened had she stayed there, in his arms, victim to the brief yet demanding interlude of their platonic friendship.

Then came the underlying question. Were they actually platonic? Or was it just a matter of timing?

It was true, he had never felt physical attraction towards her during their days at Hogwarts but that was mostly because they were hardly, if ever, alone. When Ron wasn't there, someone else was. The only other point in time he could remember being alone with Hermione was when they rescued Sirius from the Kiss. But they had only been thirteen at the time. He had never thought of any young woman in a sexual manner at that age.

Harry massaged his temples, knowing the further he delved into their mess of a situation, the deeper his fascination would grow.

But really, what wasn't to like?

She had both brains and beauty – not to mention bravery and a killer wand reflex to boot.

"No," he told himself. "You need to stay focused. Just destroy the Horcruxes and be done with it."

Alas, if only life were that simple.

**Two Hours Later **

Harry awoke with a startle, his body covered in a thick layer of cold sweat. It seemed, somewhere between the morning's events and his inner turmoil, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion had taken over. He heard the empty clink of the Firewhiskey bottle and suddenly everything made sense – his dizziness, headache and bewilderment.

He passed out – drunk. Harry rolled onto his side and propped his head up with one hand, groaning as his arm wriggled against the weight.

He felt weak.

"Merlin's sake – Harry – What is – Get up!"

He craned his neck to the tent, making out the clear silhouette of his best friend and confidante, Hermione Granger. She was in different clothes than the last time he'd seen her. He immediately recognized her lavender nightgown, seeing as Ginny had an identical one in blue. He figured the garment was one of Mrs. Weasley's creations.

Hermione rushed to his side, grabbing the nearby blanket, which lay crumpled at his feet and wrapped it around him with extended arms. "You're bloody insane, you know that?" He missed her lectures, ironically enough. "Get inside. You're freezing."

Harry haphazardly obliged, noticing his drop in body temperature almost immediately after her comment. The fire had gone out while he slept.

She ushered him through the narrow slit at the tent's entrance and over to the nearest bed – Ron's bed. "I'll – Fire – Tea -"

The young man couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of her panic. For someone who always knew what to do, Hermione sure loved to pretend otherwise. He watched as she withdrew her wand, setting the fireplace alight with bright, vibrant flames. He was engulfed by warmth.

The bookish brunette proceeded to the kitchenette, rummaging through the cupboards until she found the teapot and some cups.

Harry lifted his legs from the floor and folded them beneath him, sitting Indian style as Hermione fired up a pot of tea. The soft citrus aroma of Sana Tea swept through the tent in a matter of seconds, easing the tension building in his temples.

"Thank Merlin for magical tea," Harry thought aloud.

Hermione faced him as he spoke, folding her arms over her chest. Judging by the slight knolls resting atop her arms, he assumed she wasn't wearing a bra.

"If you were tired, you should have come inside," she said, frowning. "You could have caught pneumonia, Harry."

"And I could have cured it in less than a second," he concluded, lifting his wand.

She sighed with disregard. "That's not the point."

With one glance at the teapot, Hermione strolled over to him, motioning for him to lie down. He obliged, pausing as his boots got caught on the bed-frame. Harry went to take them off but only fumbled, as his fingers were still numb from the cold.

"Here," Hermione knelt down by the bed. "Let me."

It shouldn't have affected him – not like that, not tremendously so – but it did. Harry leaned back on the bed, lifting his feet to give her more leeway as she yanked at the laces. Her small, slender, skillful fingers curved around his left boot, sliding it off with precision before moving on to the right. She repeated the same process, undoing the laces, loosening the folds and pulling it off.

His sock went with it, hanging loose from halfway down his foot as she set the right boot down. Harry bent over to pull it up but her hands were already there. She gripped the elastic rim, pausing for a moment before taking it off and doing the same with the other.

The feeling in Harry's body slowly crept back as he watched his best friend at work. She had that same concentrated look in her eyes – determination he had only ever witnessed in the midst of a challenge. But perhaps their current situation was a challenge. Merlin knew it felt like one.

Hermione shook her head, motioning to lift herself from the floor before taking a sharp breath. Harry's hands were on her, gripping her shoulders as he raised his best friend from her knees.

She seemed to read his mind, because in a matter of seconds they were side-by-side, seated on the thin single mattress.

"We can't keep doing this," Harry said, voice so low it was barely audible.

Hermione nodded, misinterpreting his statement. "I know."

The young man held a finger under her chin, tilting it forward so he could show her what he really meant. He could see her chocolate brown eyes flutter and the narrow slit of her mouth begin to part – not to speak but rather to catch his lips as they slowly met with hers.

She pulled back almost instantly, but their distance remained nonexistent. He could still taste her lips, breathe in her scent and feel her breath. It was brief, but their moment of weakness was arguably the most selfish moment in Harry's life. He wasn't allowed to want her. He wasn't aloud to dream of her. He wasn't allowed to breathe her in or feel her – but that's what made it all the more enthralling.

"I can't do this," she whispered, unknowingly brushing her lips against his as she spoke.

Harry held both her hands in his, pressing them against his mouth with feather-light kisses. "You can leave anytime you want," he said, trailing his kisses from her hands, along her arms and all the way to her shoulders. He could feel her breath catch under his touch and wondered if her heart was hammering against her ribcage as well. "You can, but you won't."

The bravery of his words left Hermione in the same state of vertigo. She squeezed his hands with nervousness, the same way she always did when they were in a troublesome situation, but this time it was different. Harry reciprocated, holding still for fair warning before he moved to the soft skin of her neck.

His senses detonated as she exhaled – vaguely uttering his name.

It set him on fire. It wasn't until then that he knew the attraction was mutual. Harry feverishly pulled her in for another kiss, but this time she didn't back away, and this time she returned his hunger with some of her own. They were predatory creatures feasting on the venison they had been deprived of for so very long.

Their lips moved together with magnificent force. He ran his hands along her sides, feeling her nightgown rise with his fingers.

"_Don't_," Hermione breathed.

Harry opened his mouth. "I – Sorry – I just – I didn't mean –"

She held a finger on his lips. "I can't risk you tearing it," explained the young woman, rising to her feet before crisscrossing her arms over her torso and grabbing bunches of the fabric in her small hands. With eyes the size of Galleons Harry observed as his best friend slipped the nightgown over her head, revealing a pair of matching emerald knickers.

It was then that the thought occurred to him.

Hermione could have easily mended any torn fabric with the flick of her dragon heartstring wand, which meant she wasn't worried about ruining her nightgown; she just wanted him to see her undress. The voyeuristic quality of it was innocent and provocative all at the same time.

His lower half ached with anticipation.

There were soft touches of pink on her cheeks as she let her nightgown fall smoothly to the floor, vulnerable to Harry's eyes in their private disclosure.

He found the sight of her riveting. She wasn't incredibly curvy – quite petite when it came down to it – but still stunning in every which way. Her dark brown tendrils of hair fell loosely to her elbows, shaping over the curvature under her camisole. It was made of silk with lace trimming along the upper rim. Her matching underwear was the same, except the lace was on the lower rim, disappearing between her thighs.

Harry blinked several times over, speechless.

When she didn't move from her spot, he got up, feeling his heart grow mad with fervor as he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it back, away from her front.

"You are so beautiful," he exhaled, never so sure of his words for the past seventeen years.

Hermione didn't say anything, instead glancing at his body, which at that moment was still covered. Harry understood her immediately, preparing to take his shirt off until her hands clasped over his, prohibiting any further movement.

"May I?" she asked nervously.

He nodded, feeling a moment of shyness as her hands found the rim of his black long-sleeve shirt, lifting it from his torso.

Now, he had been shirtless in front of her before. In fact, he had been half-naked in front of thousands of people during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, but for some reason Harry felt incredibly anxious as her eyes studied him – traveling along his bare, seventeen-year-old torso.

He knew he wasn't terribly fit but Quidditch had at least given him enough muscle to fill out his shirts. He glanced down as her hands glided along the ridges of his abdominal muscles. Ginny had always described him as trim, but his thoughts were far from her.

Hermione tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, catching his expectant gaze with one of her own.

"Are we really doing this?" she asked.

He thought for less than a tenth of a second. "I would regret it terribly if we didn't," Harry answered, cluing into their previous discussion outside.

The rise and fall of Hermione's chest grew fierce as they closed in on one another. And just before the invasion, she whispered something under her breath.

* * *

His face screwed for a moment, but it was brief. She could see the darkened lust in his eyes. Their lips met, savaging and savoring one another. In one word their exchange was passion – a powerful, compelling feeling filled with urgency and laced with desire. She sunk deep into their kiss, as though it would be their first and last, allowing her body to mould perfectly to his.

Harry snaked his wandering arms to the curve of her arse and the small of her back, lifting her against the nearest wall. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling his arousal against her own. Hermione moaned into their kiss, unknowingly undulating against his body.

If she could speak she would have cried out his name – the way she had always dreamt about, but all forms of communication were lost in translation. They were exchanged with raspy breaths and broken moans.

He wedged his knee underneath her, holding her in place as his hands found the straps of her camisole. With a second of apprehension, perhaps waiting for Hermione to repel, the young man took her lack of concern as an open invitation and slipped the straps down her shoulders.

Hermione held her breath, knowing he could feel her nervousness in their kiss. His hands moved slower, giving her time to adjust to the uncovering. Her breasts weren't at all large – not as large as Ginny's – and the only other person to have ever seen them in their current state was her mother during a rather embarrassing trip to Victoria's Secret, and even then she was shy.

Gradually, she could feel Harry's damp breath travel from her mouth, down to her neck, resting at the space between her collarbones as his eyes grasped the sight before them.

It was in that moment that Hermione realized Ginny hadn't been lying about how far she had gone with Harry, because the acclamation laced within his emerald orbs was impossible to overlook. If she had to decide, she would have compared his current look with the one he so proudly wore after unwrapping his _Nimbus 2000_ during First Year.

But she suspected he wouldn't have offered his prized broomstick quite the same praise. Harry blew air over her bare breasts, lifting her higher up against the wall as to get better access and nuzzling between her breasts, leaving a trail of kisses from one to the other.

He alternated – kissing, sucking, kissing, sucking, kissing, sucking – and at the sound of another high-pitched moan from above, the young man took one of her rosy nipples in his mouth, gently resting it between his teeth as he grazed his tongue over the tip.

The feeling of it nearly took her over the edge right then and there, but Hermione kept her composure – or at least she tried to.

He repeated this process several times over, and Merlin, was it bloody magnificent.

Several minutes later, her nipples now swollen with arousal, Hermione slid back down as they shared another kiss. Again, she could feel his stimulation beneath her. She began to grind against him, feeling her silky underwear dampen.

"Wh – Where did you l – learn that?" Harry breathed, his lips grazing hers as he asked.

She smiled inwardly, reveling his amazement. "Well, I don't know if you're aware but there's such a thing as the Internet. We don't have it in the wizarding world, sure, but neither of us were raised to be Magic Folk –"

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

He stifled a laugh. "Shut up."

And she had never been more willing to oblige.

With her legs still wrapped firmly around his lower half, Hermione gasped slightly as Harry carried them away from the wall and back onto the bed. He rested her down first, gently against the mattress and then positioned himself on top, careful not to hold his weight on her.

They sucked on each other's lips playfully – almost competitively – until Harry broke away, breathing hard against her mouth as she felt along his belt buckle. She could see his cheeks turn a fierce shade of crimson and figured her own cheeks were burning with the same anticipation, especially after the violent twitch that reverberated from his pelvic area.

The clink of his belt buckle ricocheted between them.

It was now or never.

Hermione tilted her head forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips as her hand slid into his pants. She felt him return her kiss clumsily, overtaken by the feeling of her hand grasping him for the first time. For a few moments, just to get acquainted with the sensation of it, they stayed like this. And after Harry regained some form of composure, Hermione slid her hand further along his length.

She wondered to herself how something so hard could feel so soft all at the same time. The idea of feeling a man had always turned her off somewhat, but in that moment she couldn't have been more turned on. His length just kept on going. It took a little while, but she finally managed to reach his tuft of pubic hair, and carefully slid her hand back up.

7 maybe 7.5 inches, she presumed.

Harry groaned against her lips, unconsciously pushing his pants down further as to give her more leeway. And Hermione accepted this invitation wholeheartedly, exchanging her slow, soft strokes for something a little faster. He groaned once again, eyes firmly shut.

She closed her eyes as well, mistakenly brushing his head against herself, wondering if he could feel how wet she was.

Now, charged with more fuel than either of them knew how to handle, Hermione vigorously stroked his cock. She could feel him shake with desire, overcome by the rawness of it. She wanted to live in this moment for the rest of her life – edging The Boy Who Lived into a state of orgasm he knew not.

"I'm – I'm going to –"

Her swift strokes drew to an end, and she watched as Harry's expression went from a state of embarrassment to perplexity, and as if on cue, disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he began, running a hand through his messy black hair. "I shouldn't have let things get so –"

She held a finger over his lips, resisting the urge to burst out with fierce giggles at what she was about to ask. "I don't want this to be over so soon," explained the young woman. She glanced down his body, still lying down beneath him. "Switch with me."

Harry's eyes narrowed with uncertainty, but he obliged, watching her as she crawled on top of him and left a path of kisses down his torso. She alternated her method – sometimes light and sometimes rough – but always maintaining eye contact. After a few moments of this, she could see realization interweave with the affection in Harry's gaze.

She made her way down to his lower half, gripping the base of it with her hands and marveling its statuesque quality. Truthfully, she had never seen one up close before but the look of his was beyond exceptional. After all, why wouldn't the Chosen One have a magnificent cock?

"You don't have to do this…" Harry breathed, sounding unsure of his own words.

But Hermione knew better. Her best friend was wrong. She did have to do this – for both of them. She had denied herself for far too long to back out.

Slowly, the young woman bowed her head between his legs, pressing her rosy lips against him. He tilted his head back in pleasure, consumed in the same ferocious intrigue as her.

"I've never done this before," she admitted, voice as soft as her dark chocolate curls.

He gave her a look of understanding, because clearly she wasn't the only one who hadn't gone so far. It felt good to be on an even playing field.

With a deep breath, Hermione gave the head of his cock a gentle flick, catching his pre-cum without meaning to. But the taste of him only drove her further into a state of awakening. It was bitter, sweet, and intoxicating all at once.

She then ran her tongue along his length, curving around the tip and then down again in spectacular fashion. Judging by his aggressive twitches, Harry seemed to be enjoying what was being done. He tilted his head back again, this time permitting a low growl to escape his pursed lips.

Feeling a little more confident with herself, Hermione made her way back to the tip and, without warning, wrapped her lips around him, hearing him gasp with surprise and then bliss. She moved her tongue in slow circles, feeling his hands brush her hair aside, probably to get a better view.

She wondered what it looked like – Hermione Granger with her mouth and tongue massaging Harry Potter's throbbing cock.

"Am…I…doing…it…right?" she asked between bobs.

Harry exhaled deeply, looking as though he was barely conscious of his own thoughts let alone words to speak. "Y – Yes…"

Hermione relished the sight of him, knowing it was her who drove him to such a state. "What if I do this?" she asked, giving him a supple suck.

The young man threw his arms to his sides, grabbing hands full of the bed sheets and groaning with approval. "_That works too_ –"

She couldn't help but chuckle.

* * *

The feeling of it was bloody glorious. She played coy with her furtive winks and innocent questions, but Harry was quite aware of the fact that Hermione knew exactly what she was doing to him. Maybe she had even thought about it, late at night when her eyes just wouldn't shut. Maybe she had fantasized pleasing and being pleasured.

He felt that familiar sensation charging its way down his body, darting his eyes to her and watching her as she coerced his cock into the final stages of gratification. Harry always knew she had a strong and skillful mouth but he had no idea just how talented his best friend was until he jerked his head back in sheer ecstasy, throbbing and thrashing in a state of complete vertigo.

He had never felt anything like it in his life.

After a few moments of just lying there, wondering how it was possible to feel so ghastly yet so good at the same time, Harry tilted his head forward and found Hermione glancing back at him with a smirk that would have given Malfoy a run for his money.

"That's…it," he said, trying desperately to catch his breath. "It's…your turn."

Before he could watch the smirk abandon her rosy lips, Harry sat up, lifting Hermione from her waist and spreading her across the bed. She was a petite girl, so he did it with one hand, using the other to brush the hair from her face and give her another kiss.

He decided he liked kissing her.

Her lips were thin – not nearly as full as Ginny's – but he and Hermione just seemed to understand one another better – both emotionally and physically. She understood all his movements and he understood hers. They were fluent in each other's body language, and a connection that deep was difficult to avoid – not that he was trying.

He pulled his pants off, realizing they were still hanging loosely from his knees.

"Well, there you are…" she said, eyes dancing over his naked form.

Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, chuckling with her. "You ready?"

"I've **been** ready."

And he didn't need more convincing. Harry crawled back on all fours; tracing his tongue over her breasts and feeling her body undulate beneath him. With slight apprehension, he left her swollen nipples and continued his kiss all the way down her lower abdomen until he reached the rim of her underwear.

He could already smell her arousal, breathing it in as though it was the sweetest and most delicious scent in the world – which at that moment it came to be. But Harry decided he wanted more, and by the shallow breathing from above, it seemed as though she did too.

The young man curved his fingers around the sides of her underwear, teasing her for a moment before slowly slipping them off. She was trimmed to perfection.

"Stunning," he whispered, blowing soft air over her slick vulva and rubbing his thumb over her swollen clit simultaneously.

Hermione gasped as he did this, cupping her breasts in the way he had always imagined. He wondered if this is what she did when she touched herself. Feeling his cock harden in response, Harry dove in; tasting her for the first time, and boy did she taste marvelous.

"Like this?" he asked, keeping a locked gaze on her as her eyes fluttered with the same feeling that overcame him moments ago.

He drew small circles over her clit, licking and tasting her flow with careful laps. Muggles always preached using the alphabet to make a girl orgasm but Harry decided he didn't like that idea. Instead he licked her clit in the shape of each letter in his name.

H – A – R – R – Y

She bit her bottom lip, flicking her nipples the same way Harry began to flick her downstairs. "_Y – Yes_," Hermione moaned. "_Just like that_…"

H – A – R

Her breathing intensified and her walls flexed around his finger as he plunged it deep in her pussy amidst her orgasm, momentarily surprised by the tightness of her. She was smooth from the inside and out, moist with pleasure and charged with claim – claim for him because Harry knew from that moment on, he would belong to nobody else.

She had him. She had him any which way she wanted.

**The End**

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review. If you have any requests or suggestions, let me know. xo. **


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